


Waiting

by Ailelie



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, House M.D.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-19
Updated: 2010-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 06:54:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/134258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ailelie/pseuds/Ailelie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Adam's father falls ill while on holiday in America, Adam tries for a miracle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting

_Now his wars on God begin;  
At the stroke of midnight God shall win._ ~Yeats

Envision a waiting room, specifically a hospital waiting room. See the row of chairs that only look comfortable and the stacks of expired magazines. In the corner notice the painted box of broken toy cars and naked baby dolls. A boy, nearly a man, really, fiddles with one of the cars, twisting it in his hands while his friends sit around him in that uncomfortable silence in which everyone knows they should say something, but no one knows what.

See them all in this one quiet moment before the door opens and the nurse walks through without good news. The red-haired girl is tapping her heel against the floor, her elbows on her knees. She looks toward her friend and chews her lip. The blond boy, who is sitting so very still and staring up at the ceiling, is likely all to familiar with waiting in waiting rooms. And the last friend, another boy, paces up and down the room, restless. He has a streak of ink below his lip.

The door opens.

"Mr. Young? This way, please." The boy-man tosses the car back into the box and stands.

"Let's go," he says and his friends follow him as they always have. Behind him, in the painted box, all the toy cars gleam as though new. In fact, they are new. Always have been.

* * *

Adam sat beside his father's bed with Wensley and Brian standing on either side of him. Brian squeezed his shoulder and a smile flickered onto Adam's face. Pepper, on the other side of the bed, smoothed away nonexistent wrinkles in the bedspread.

"This shouldn't be happening," Adam said, his voice strange. Pepper exchanged a glance with other two boys and Wensley sighed.

"You can't control life and death, Adam." Years ago Wensley might have argued the futility of using such words as 'should' and 'should not,' but then he had learned that where Adam was concerned, all the carefully described laws in his books did not apply.

"Yeah, Adam, it's like what that bookseller friend of yours says all the time-- inevitable," Brian said.

"Ineffable," Wensley corrected.

"Inevitable works, too," Brian argued, "considering death comes no matter what." He had said it-- the D word.

"He isn't going to die," Adam said, standing. The air around him felt like it was bending and the boys looked to Pepper. She rolled her eyes and leaned over the bed to stare Adam directly in the eyes.

"Some things," she said, "even you can't change. Sit down. Stay with your dad. I'll get us tea."

"Don't boss me," Adam replied, almost smiling. Pepper flicked his nose.

"I can do as I please." Adam sat down and grabbed his dad's hand, feeling hopeless for the first time in his life.

All over the hospital slim odds for survival or recovery increased miraculously and unlikely chances became certainties. In room 1063, however, nothing changed.

* * *

Dr. Gregory House stretched out on the connected waiting room chairs in the Oncology department. His eyes were closed, but he was not sleeping. He was listening.

"Remission, really?"

"Yeah, it's weird, but we checked it over again and there's no mistake."

"Amazing. Everyone's getting better today."

House frowned and pushed himself up to his feet. The nurses did not notice him until the door slammed behind him. On his way to the cafe, he stumbled across several teary-eyed individuals talking of 'miracles' and saying 'everything's really okay.' House bought himself a soda and sat at one of the tables. The surgeons nearby did not talk of any complications they'd faced that day. Instead, they discussed their surprise at how everything had been 'textbook.'

People were getting better. _Everyone_ was getting better. Even he hadn't needed a Vicodin since he'd arrived at the hospital. House paged Wilson and tapped a beat against the table while he waited.

"You're late," he said as Wilson dropped into the chair opposite.

"What's the emergency? Forget your lunch money, again?"

"No," House answered, rolling his eyes. "How many 'miraculous recoveries' have you had today?"

Wilson frowned. "Why does that matter?"

"Have you told anyone today that they've gotten worse?"

"No." House nodded and stood up. "House, what are you doing?"

"Going to Cuddy. Something isn't right."

"What? In case you've forgotten, recoveries are a goal here." Wilson stood. House shook his head.

"Not like this. Even my new coma guy woke up this morning, upending my breakfast on the floor, too. Look around, Wilson, no one's si--" House stopped.

"No one's what, House?" House shushed him and held up a finger. Then, without any warning, he stuck out his cane, nearly tripping a red-haired girl talking on her cell phone and carrying some hot cups.

"What room?" he demanded before the girl could say a word.

"Just a moment, mum," the girl said into her phone. "I'll call you back later. Yes, of course, I won't forget. Bye." She hung up an glared at House. "What _exactly_ are you doing?"

"What room?" House asked again. "You just told your mother on the phone that there's no change and that someone is going to die. I want to know which room."

"Why do you want to know?"

"I'm a bored psychopath. _What room?_ " Wilson sighed.

"Just placate him," he said to the girl. "He is a good doctor."

"Doesn't matter how good he is," she replied. "He can't do a bloody thing; no one can." She hesitated and then said, "1063, Young. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to return to my friend." She left the cafe.

"You must be desperate, House. Room 1063-- that wing? You know there's no mystery there." House shook his head.

"He's still sick. Today that is extremely interesting."

* * *

"I'm not going to sit here and spout off some pseudo-philosophical crap, Adam. People die; it happens."

Adam didn't reply and so Pepper kicked his chair, shifting it a few centimetres with high-pitched screech against the tile. She stole back the weak, hot tea she'd clobbered together for him and turned to leave. The rude doctor from the cafe blocked her exit. He met her fierce gaze and stepped aside. Pepper rubbed her eyes, pushing back what were certainly _not_ tears, and collapsed against the wall outside the room. She slid downward and sat the teas beside her. Brian and Wensley, who had been exiled from the room while she had been gone, said nothing and doctor closed the door behind him.

Adam looked up. "Who are you?"

"Dr. Gregory House. Who are you?"

"Adam Young; this man is my dad." House noted the odd phrasing.

"He is your dad," he repeated. "Are you his son?" Adam looked across to his dad and shook his head.

"No. He doesn't know, though. Neither does my mum. Switched at birth."

"Right. Whose son _are_ you, then? The King's? Some movie star's?" Adam half-grinned and shook his head.

"Nah, just Satan's." He could have lied, but he had learned that telling the truth was more fun. House nodded even though he obviously did not believe Adam.

"Of course. Why are you in New Jersey?"

"Holiday. We just graduated, Pep, Brian, Wensley, and I. I decided we should take a holiday in the United States."

"And you chose New Jersey?"

"We couldn't pick, so we tossed a dart at the map. It landed on New Jersey." Adam pantomimed throwing a dart and shrugged. "Seemed to me it didn't much matter where we went, really, because, well, it's America. We could always travel around, if we wanted."

House flipped through Mr. Young's chart and found no surprises. "This should have been caught sooner."

Adam slumped over onto the bed, he was squeezing his dad's hand tightly. "That's my fault," he said. "I wasn't paying attention. I got distracted." House frowned.

"Your attentiveness or lack thereof should have no impact. His doctor should have caught this."

"That's just it. I kept him from getting sick. I knew he was going to die and so I kept the sickness away. But I lost focus." He was no longer talking to House and his voice echoed oddly in the room. House hooked his cane around a chair, dragged it beneath him, and sat down.

"Are you focusing now?" he asked slowly, his mind working over the insane idea, but then-- Miracles all over the hospital. Comatose patients waking without brain damage. Impossible events.

"Yes," Adam said. He wasn't lying.

"Are you really the Antichrist?" he asked. Adam shrugged.

"Sort of. It's complicated." House tapped his cane against the floor and looked over the man in the bed.

"He will die."

Adam sighed and his head dropped onto the bed. "I know," he said, his words muffled by the thin sheets and mattress.

House tapped his cane once more and stood up. He was taking the rest of the day off; nothing interesting would be happening.

Adam stayed behind, because even though he knew it was hopeless, he had to try. The Them wandered back into the room and traded stories about Adam's dad, trying to make Adam laugh and be less intense.

Miracles continued to happen all over the hospital.

At 12:00 AM _exactly_ , Mr. Young died. Adam felt his pulse slow and cease beneath his palm. He looked up at Them and sighed. With that sigh, all the tension that had built around him throughout the day fled. Pepper called Mrs. Young and her mother to share the news. Mrs. Young wept over the phone and demanded to speak to Adam. Soon Adam was crying and Pepper could feel her eyes heat up as well. Wensley talked with the morgue to find the best way to transport the body back to England and Brian bought junk food and movies and did his best to keep Adam distracted. After all, this was their holiday.

At roughly 11 AM the next morning, House returned to work.


End file.
